Secret secrets
by Subtle Shenanigans
Summary: For four Roomates hiding the fact that they're not exactly human, it turns out they have some other interesting secrets too. Jack has a little friend. Mark's aren't so much. Dan is secretly clingy. And Phil is obsessed with houseplants, for completely normal reasons. AlienRoommates!AU. UNBETA'D.
1. Jack's Chapter

**A/N: So, uh. I'm Not dead.**

 **Just, depression has been pretty bad lately, but I'm finally getting around to cross-posting my crap from AO3.**

 **This is a continuation of the AlienRoommates!AU, just a brief species exploration. I also have a reveal fic, an unrelated Googleplier piece, and a few chapters for _Static_.**

 **If you have any questions, feel free to ask or read my notes on Archive.**

* * *

 _I've got my Eye on you_

Also entitled

 _The Author isn't punny_

* * *

Jack was sitting on his bed, legs folded beneath him. He strained his ears, waiting for the final click of the lock being turned when his final roommate left.

 _click_.

Finally!

He grinned to himself, glad he had pretty much memorized the work habits of his newfound friends.

It was Wednesday, a day that Jack had off. Dan left for work around noon, and Phil had left two hours before that, while Mark worked later on Wednesdays than any other day, leaving around two.

Yes, it was odd that he knew all of his friends' schedules, but it must be done.

Or else not one, but two of his secrets would be exposed.

The first and foremost would be his little buddy.

Secondly, said buddy would expose that Seán was, in fact, and alien.

Specifically, a Bossotronio, who's great-whatever's came from the planet Bossotron.

. . . not that they would figure out those specific aspects, but still.

"Okay, Seánny boy," he said to himself in a gleeful whisper, rubbing his hands together quickly, "time for a little magic."

He held his hands out, stilling them as though holding a ball, and closed his blue eyes gently.

At first, it was nothing but Jack being quiet and still - quite a bit of magic, that - but after a moment, he felt cool heat rush under his skin, and he his neck grew patchy red as he "sweat".

Bright green flashed faintly through his veins, and, though closed, his iris shimmered in a circle with the same affect. Once the feeling dulled to a pleasant hum, he opened his once-again blue eyes.

Between the space of his hands sat Sam, looking at him blankly.

Then there was some sort of happy, higher-pitched squee from the creature as it hurtled itself at Jack and cuddles against his collar bone.

"Sam!" Jack gently placed his hands on the little guy, giving him a gentle hug. "It's good to see you too, buddy!"

About a month after Jack had moved out from home, and into his new apartment with his roommates, he discovered he could make Sam.

He had been having a weird week - his _Boss Energy_ flaring up, despite the Earth's magnetic field dampening most of it. His ma had warned him that he channeled his BE stronger than most of his known family, so this would probably happen.

And really, it did - he was much more energized, and lively, though he kept check to not be annoyingly so. Dan had even expressed appreciation at Jack's willingness and drive to clean the living room and kitchen so well. He barely even slept for five days.

But then came the crash; he slept for an almost twenty-four solid hours. Probably would have slept longer, too, had Mark not been concerned enough to wake him up.

After that, came his dreams; re-runs of particular moments in his life, distorting and twisting-

 _he remembered an eye infection he had had once, while in school, but the dream twisted it so that his eye could see things differently, though he didn't know how, and at one point there had been something sharp-fanged and orange-eyes, ripping it from his head-_

And he woke up with Sam hovering above his bed, staring down at him.

Jack had started back, blankly, cool night air seeping over them from the window.

He knew immediately what Sam was, and where he came from. He was of Seán's energy; his memories. An extension with its own thoughts and desires.

He fell in love immediately.

Mark always talked about wanting to get a dog, and negotiating with the landlord about lifting the animal ban. Jack remembered the longing in his voice. The want.

Jack had never known he had wanted a companion like that until he made Sam.

Since then, he brought Sam out whenever he deemed it safe. Cuddled and talked to and played with him.

It was wonderful.

Sam pulled away, opting to hover until Jack put his hands out for the eye to rest on. His green was vibrant as Jack's energy, and the blue iris the same shade as his own. He was a strange texture - liquidy soft, like those super soft, smooth stuffed animals he once found in a Japanese store, though there was definitely a liquid feel to it. He wasn't slimey, or grossly moist. And his little optic-nerve tail wrapped around his wrist like a rat's - which, yeah, he could sorta get why people would find it freaky, but to him it was endearing.

Sam, silent except for the squee and blink sounds he could make, spoke through his own self, and the energy that was his because it was _Jack's_.

"So," Jack began, holding his little friend close, "what do you want to hear about first? What happened with Phil and Mark and the eggs on Monday, or how Dan caught his hair on fire yesterday?"


	2. Mark's Chapter

_Making is Believing_

* * *

Growing up, Mark didn't have much of a problem in regards to making friends.

Which is why his teachers never understood his strong imagination.

It was probably second grade where it almost became a concern - the kids had done arts and crafts that day, and little Mark had made a cute little crate with shimmery googly eyes that glittered, and tiny cut-paper mitten hands.

"It's for my friend, Tim!" He had chirped, showing his teacher. She had given a fond smile, and said, "That's very nice dear, but don't you mean Tom? We don't have a Tim in class."

Mark had shook his head, floofy hair bobbing comically. "No, my friend Tim - he wanted me to make him, so I did."

The teacher had givin a humoring smile then; ah, an imaginary friend. "Well then, I'm sure he'll like it," she said sweetly.

Mark had frowned slightly, but then gave a brilliant smile and thanked her. Even though he knew she didn't believe him.

When he didn't let go of his "imaginary friend" in the next grade, or fourth, or fifth, and his teachers' brows would furrow more and more, he stopped talking about Tim, but never let him go.

And then came Highschool. He had come to his friend's theater class during a free period, and they had been playing an improv game. _Make a character diversely different than you, but with good reason._ It had been a fun game - Mark had created Wilford Warfstache, an eccentric, slightly deranged man who wasn't afraid simply because he couldn't be bothered to. He declared that Wilford had a traumatizing event in his past, though he wouldn't share what. His friend had been impressed by the warbled voice he put on, the exaggerated movements. They had found his pastel, lemony yellow pressed-shirt and pink suspenders a riot, as well as the pink moustache. And Mark had been proud, even if he really _felt_ like Wilford at those times.

So he had held onto Wil, just as strongly as Tim. And when his mom told him he was mostly alien, and what she knew that he could do, he had learned that these "imaginary friends" weren't so imaginary, _because he had made them real._

* * *

Mark heaved a sigh of relief as he watched Phil leave out the door with a kind wave. Between Jack's haphazard jobs, and Phil's, there was hardly a time where Mark was truly _alone_ in the apartment.

Luckily Dan had a very stable schedule that Mark could shimmy around. If the Brit hadn't, well. . .

"It would be a lot harder for us to be here, wouldn't it, Mark?"

Mark didn't even bat an eye, turning to look at his lemonade-clad döppleganger. Wilford stood there, idly toying with his pistol.

"You know I don't like you having that think out."

Wilford gave a grin, drawling, "Weeeellll, it's _not_ like it can do anything."

Mark pinched the bridge of his nose. It was a relief to be able and talk to his little friends alone, but g-dangit he was not in the mood for Wil's . . .exuberance today. He had already had to deal with Jack and Phil and the potato incident this week.

He got up, cutting off Wil's response to his thoughts, and made his way to his room. "You can come if you want Wil - but you need to behave today, okay?"

Wil stood there, twiddling with the pistol. Mark felt bad - Wil knew his thoughts and feelings, so of course he was a little annoyed. But that meant he also knew Mark wasn't doing it to be mean.

It really had been a tough week.

He entered his room, closing the door gently; he had a feeling Wilford just wanted to stew for awhile. At least he couldn't cause any actual havoc, unless Mark was channeling him.

"Mark!"

"Whoa!"

Mark's hands flew up reflexively as a happy grin graced his features; Tiny Box Tim had jumped at him and wrapped soft, mitten hands around him as best as he could in a hug. Mark reciprocated it.

 _If I can't have a dog, at least I have my little biscuit._

Tim looked up at him with wide, delighted eyes, and began chattering all about Big Box Barry, and him now being a friend, and that he hadn't seen side nor panel of the boxes who had bullied him so long ago - even if these figures weren't real in the slightest, they were part of Tim's "memories", which made up who he was.

"So, Mark," his higher, wood-warn voice changed tone, as he asked, "how was your week?"

"Oh, Tim," he huffed. "You have no idea. So the other day, Jack and Phil decide to make dinner - now, don't get me wrong, they're both good cooks, but _together_. . ."

Tim listened with rapt attention as Mark related the entire incident - from the issue with the oil smoking, to the actual potatoes on fire, and the sprinkler system almost drowning out what had been salvageable of the meal.

So caught up in his storytelling, that Mark didn't hear the lock click open.

Nor the footsteps on the carpet.

Wilford's _oh shiitake mushrooms_ was too quiet to be caught.

The only thing he did hear was a rapid set of knocks on his bedroom door.

"Hey, Mark? I'm back a bit early - thought I'd get started on dinner. Do you have someone over? Should I make extra?"

Phil's voice rang through the wood like a warning knell, and Mark froze wit absolute fear.

 _Oh effing hell - how could I have lost track of time? What if he knows? He must have heard me talking; unless. . ._

Mark gulped. He tried to keep his voice steady, and said, "Uh, okay, sounds good - I'm just on the phone - my brother called. I'll be off in a few minutes."

Time seemed to stretch as Phil responded. "Oh! Sorry to interrupt - take your time! Jack texted that he's on his way, and Dan is stuck in a case, so he'll be a little late."

Mark tried to catch his breath as the footsteps faded away, and a distinct, clang started up from the kitchen as Phil pulled out the dishes he needed. Tim also watched the door wit rapt attention, and Wil had faded through the wall to join them. Silently, Wil nodded, fading from existence, and Tim gave a quiet 'bye, Mark.'

He was lucky no one could see them unless Mark made them.

But if he spoke out loud, well. . .

There was a chance someone could hear them.

After a few more minutes of mental preparation ( _c'mon you big bubble blow in' baby_ ) Mark left the comfort of his room, striding through the hall, and swiping his phone off the table in the living room. He acted casual as he talked to him about his work day, and various other things while the Brit cooked.

He really hoped Phil hadn't noticed that he never had his phone in his room in the first place.


	3. Dan's Chapter

_Symbiotic_

* * *

Dan had known he wasn't human from the moment he could comprehend.

His mother had no qualms about telling him early on - that she was Dismalen, and his father was Human. She didn't explain much beyond that - his father was the one who took it upon himself to tell what he knew.

It wasn't much; Dismalens were a symbiotic species with emotional energy, and that because of that, it actually had a bearing on Dan's DNA being more alien than human.

Dan took it all in stride; wasn't too bothered by it. He lived, he learned, he made friends and grew up and left home-

But it did explain a few things.

How tired he was after being around people, his aversion to socializing. He _enjoyed_ having friends, no doubt, but it was downright exhausting. More so than it should have been. It even worried him to a point, affecting his already diagnosed depression, and making him more numbed to the thought of having to interact with so many people at once.

And then he met Phil.

As well as remembered.

When he became friends with Phil - an accidental thing, it was, on Twitter - the pieces began to click together.

They began hanging out, just one-on-one (Dan had a bit of admiration for the guy based on his account; but his nervousness dissolved once he realized the guy was an absolute _doof_ ). And eventually, hanging out became a solid friendship.

And then, one day, Phil mentioned that he was looking for an appartment in London, but hey, _they're all two-bedroom and kinda pricy, so I could use a roommate, yeah?_

Dan had accepted eagerly, glad to grow in his independence away from home. He loved his parents, he really did, but he was ready to _leave_.

And after a few months of living with his best friend, he realized that he felt better than he had in a long time. It wasn't that his depression was magically better - that stayed pretty much the same, but he was okay - it was a different part of him that felt better. Peaceful.

The thing about Dismalens is that they are energy-transferers. But not in the same sense as the few other energy-species. They rely heavily on a symbiotic relationship - a give and take. And it's not a matter of romantic or platonic or any such thing; it's purely chemical and emotional balance.

Dismalens produce _sereptinian_ , an energy unique to them, that others naturally pick up on. Not all can absorb this energy, though Dismalens give it off often. Only those who give the return feelings of _safe comfort love care loyal us_ pick up on it, and interestingly enough, this give and take does better with platonic relationships than romantic.

Phil felt - he felt much and strongly, all at once, which Dan's nonchalance fit perfectly with. Dan could feel more freely because he felt safe to do so. And honestly, although his depression did affect his Dismalen abilities (it is a chemical imbalance after all), it probably did tilt him in favor of balancing out with Phil.

The downside, of course, was it made him a little clingy.

Now, it wasn't to the point of literally physically clinging to Phil, but it was. . . fairly clingy. He liked to stay close, if they were amongst other people, or somewhere unfamiliar. Which was fine, since Phil had his own nervousness with people. Most assumed that they were both severely introverted and anxious. But for Dan, he hated being separated too far - but most of all, he hated being alone.

"See you later!" Dan sat on the couch as Phil left for work. It was Dan's day off, and already his stomach turned over in the uncomfortable quiet.

His leg began jiggling up and down as he fiddled with his phone; there was a distinct sense of _loss_ being in an empty apartment. Dan grit his teeth, trying not to squirm with discomfort. Stupid Dismalen dependence on others!

It wouldn't be too long before Mark got back, at least; he had already become decent friends with both Mark and Jack, and while it wasn't the same as having his best friend here, their presence helped put him at ease at least.

The air grew heavy, oppressive; at the same time, vastly empty, devoid of comfort. Dan _knew_ he would be fine, logically, but chemically and emotionally he wasn't picking up on _safe home together_ anymore - _just alone by myself empty loss._

He felt like he had scrambled for the remote, though really it was right there and simple to pick up, all for the sake of turning on the tv to give him the illusion that another being was there.

(He knew it wouldn't really work, but that was okay; a voice echoing about would at least keep it from being unbearable.)

Dan pretty much zoned out, after that. There wasn't much to do, nor did he want to. He _could_ play some video games, but his stomach curled at the thought - he was used to a friendly presence over his shoulder, or at least the feeling of another life _somewhere_ in the apartment. And he didn't have any cases to review at the moment. The house was pretty clean, and only a few dishes remained in the sink. There was nothing to do.

He almost groaned in frustration; how could he-?

Dan became stock-still as he heard a key click into the lock. The door opened, and Dan watched attentively as Mark came in, blocking the tv.

The American blinked. "Oh! Hey Dan; forgot it was your day off. I was a little later today - decided to go shopping," he lifted two plastic bags with one arm, "you fine with pasta and meat sauce?"

"Uh, yeah," he replied. Tension left him as _okay okay friend fine comfortable_ returned to him, the balance evening out.

Mark smiled, unaware of the Brit's earlier dilemma. "Alright then - it'll be a little while, since I'm doing the sauce mostly homemade, but I can garuntee it'll be great."

The shorter man went towards the kitchen, and Dan didn't even register his legs had pushed him to standing, until Mark looked back with a quick brow.

"Uh. . . Do you need any help?"

Mark shrugged. "Not really. It's not hard to make, just time-consuming. If you're that hungry I'm sure there's still some marshmallows or something left."

Dan couldn't help but snort. "Please. Do you even know Phil by now? He finished off all the marshmallows about three days after eating the rest of _my_ cereal."

Mark couldn't help but chuff at that, broad shoulders shaking.

Dan went ahead and turned off the tv to save electricity, continuing with, "Nah, just bored. Nothing good is on tv at the moment."

When Mark had calmed down from his giggle-fit, he replied with a kind smile, "Sure. Don't see why not - you've probably been lonely without anyone here too, huh?"

Dan was sure to shrug with the utmost nonchalance. "Nah, it's been fine - relaxing, actually, without you and Jack screaming your heads off for hours on end." He followed Mark into the kitchen.

The other man feigned indignance. "Why I _never_! Jack, loud - surely. But me?"

They both set about preparing the ingredients. "Yes, _you_. Honestly, you can be worse than Jack - _especially_ when that one soap is on-"

"Hey! _Reginald's Region_ is not a soap opera, first of all, and second, you cannot say that the season finale didn't piss you off."

Dan laughed, as the two fell into silly banter and light insults. Cooking went smoothly, and eventually Jack came home and invaded the kitchen, trying to 'help'. While it wasn't the same as having his favourite person around, he basked in the moment of friendship and balance.

And if he tended to hover too close to their sides, or accidentally bump into them, well, they either didn't notice or didn't complain.


	4. Phil's Chapter

**A/N: Friendly reminder that it's left ambiguous whether Phil is an alien or has Asperger's.**

 **I swear I'm like one of five people who just writes them as best friends.**

* * *

 _Phil you in_

Also Entitled

 _Don't let this author make jokes_

* * *

Phil had always had a strange turn in life.

From his first word being 'light', to his bouts of varying hair cuts, people always reacted strongly to his quirky personality. He had friends, and buddies, and pals throughout school, but he also dealt with bullies, often enough.

Which, honestly, his brother Martyn would be quick to point out that there's nothing abnormal with that.

But Phil, he always knew there was more to it than that. His string of coincidences was enough to tangle in his mind as being more than that - and it solidified when he became friends with Dan.

An odd meeting, that; Dan had been the one to really reach out, commenting on his Twitter posts, stretching to inquiries and kind words. Phil had at first been confused by this, but something, some deep sense, had urged him to reach his own hand out, pulling them towards one another.

They met, and hung out, and became friends, their own nervousness fizzing when they realized how much of a dork the other was, and how they clicked so well. Phil had had a brother, and friends. But never a best friend.

And when Phil had been looking for a new place to live, courage had made him bold enough to invite Dan along with him.

And Dan had accepted.

And _that_ was the beginning.

* * *

Phil figured it out pretty early on.

That there was something different about Dan.

But he didn't push about it; after all, Dan had confided in him about his depression (he would have had to mention it sooner or later, since they lived together. And the fact that Dan took antidepressants, well, he didn't want to hide it.) So Phil trusted that he would talk about it when he was ready to.

But he noticed things, things that couldn't be simply explained by chemical imbalance and introversion. Maybe because Phil knew he wasn't normal, too, but he noticed.

Dan always stuck close in crowds, brushed against Phil or held his arm to drag him along. He was tense when Phil left, he could see it on Skype calls and hear it through the phone and text.

Phil had always had too much empathy - he felt things off other people too strongly, amping up his own emotions. But this - this was a whole other level.

It was like a gentle breeze ruffling his hair; the thoughts running on soft murmured words that he couldn't quite catch. There was a sync, a balance. And whenever he even began to allude to such a thing, Dan would tense, muttering an excuse.

So Phil waited. And noticed. And lived.

And when Dan told him - _"I'm something called a Dismalen, I'm not even human_ " - Phil didn't dismiss him, or call him crazy, or any such thing.

He merely said, _"Okay. So what does this mean - how can I help? Do you want to change anything?"_

Life flowed normally after that, maybe a little easier. Phil understood, to a degree, what being Dismalen meant, and he was more than fine with it.

(It was actually really cool, that his best friend was partially alien, but he didn't make a big deal out of it for Dan's sake.)

The true test of Phil's secret-keeping test began when they moved away from London, and into an appartment with two strangers.

But Mark and Jack were nice enough, and both Brits grew at ease with them. There were jokes, and banter, and food, and friendship, and-

And life flowed once more.

And Phil continued to observe.

Jack was more energetic sometimes than others, and crashed for too long.

Mark's eyes gazed at things that Phil couldn't see.

Blue eyes appeared green sometimes.

American accent slipping into something different, and warbled at times.

Hidden conversations behind bedroom doors when no one was home, or too late at night.

Mark didn't have his phone that one time.

Jack spoke in a voice too hushed.

Phil kept these things to himself; and if Dan noticed, he never mentioned it to Phil. But Phil respected these people, his friends, and when they were ready, they could tell him. He cared more about keeping these strings woven together - even if by his silliness, his silence, his blatant behavior, or his own actions. After all,

 _"Phil? Is that another bloody houseplant?!"_

 _"Aw, it's a tree, and his name is Loki."_

 _"Where are we going to fit a tree? We don't have a patio!"_

 _"Wait, Mark; there's tha' ledge outside the window. It can fit there."_

 _"Oh my god Phil, you have a problem."_

 _He didn't hold back his smile, nor biting his tongue._

he had his own little quirks and secrets, that he kept to himself.


End file.
